


Werewolves of Oxford

by Fictionwriter



Series: Night Magic [4]
Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-01
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:43:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5122010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fictionwriter/pseuds/Fictionwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night of the full moon a mutilated body is found in Oxford</p>
            </blockquote>





	Werewolves of Oxford

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the LJ lewis_challenge comm's Halloween 'Fright Fest' challenge, October 2015.
> 
> Many thanks to Moth2fic for her very patient beta.

  
The pre-dawn chill made Lewis shiver as he stared down at the body half concealed under the dog willows, limbs splayed in ugly rictus, the remains a pathetic witness to a violent end. Blood spatter and other matter Robbie didn’t particularly want to speculate about made gory patterns across the grass and fallen leaves.  
  
He grimaced as Laura Hobson turned the body over. It came with a horrible looseness, as though held together only by the vestige shreds of cloth that might have been a suit in a prior life. There was a gaping hole where the throat should be and what was left of the face looked young, vulnerable.  
  
“Doesn’t look like a vampire attack,” Robbie said as Laura’s gloved and surprisingly gentle hands moved quickly over the body, hesitating at the more obvious wounds.  
  
“You know the drill, Robbie,” she admonished, giving him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the corpse.  
  
Robbie rubbed at the back of his neck. “Yeah. It’s just. This doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before. Even a vampire has a purpose to its viciousness, there’s far too much blood left about for one thing, and lycanthropes don’t leave this mess. They go for the heart and leave the rest.”  
  
“There are more things, Horatio, in heaven and earth than vampires and werewolves,” Laura muttered, deep into an investigation of what seemed to be the corpse’s chest cavity.  
  
“Now you sound like Hathaway,” Robbie rejoined. Laura just looked up and grinned at him.  
  
“Yeah, all right,” he said, turning to look for the man in question. James stood some feet away, by the edge of the green belt of willows and shrubs, gazing intently across Music Meadow.  As if sensing Lewis’ scrutiny James looked up quickly, gifting him with half a smile before turning back to his examination of the area surrounding the kill.  
  
Lewis watched, wondering what he’d been thinking so deeply about in those few moments of preoccupation. Wondered if James was slipping away from him even more with each passing day. The amnesia of all those weeks ago had given way to fragile returning memories. Hathaway knew who he was now, knew the world and his place in it, but important details seemed to elude him and the days leading up to their encounter with witch magic were a blank slate. Or so it seemed.  
  
“How’s he doing?” Hobson was standing next to him now, her examination of the body apparently concluded.  
  
Lewis shrugged. “How do I know?” he said. “James was always tightlipped, now a crowbar won’t pry them open.” He rubbed the back of his neck again. “Says he’s okay of course, that he’s remembering more all the time. Suppose he is but that doesn’t mean he’s alright, does it?”  
  
“Give him time, Robbie,” she said, patting his arm. “He’ll let you in again when he’s ready.”  
  
Lewis glanced at her, trying to believe, but any comment he could make went unsaid when Hathaway turned from his study and made his way towards them.  
  
“Nothing much of note so far, sir,” he said. “No indication of a struggle, some flattened grass and drag marks. Looks as if whoever did this grabbed the victim when he was walking along the path and pulled him in here.”  
  
“Before they butchered him,” Lewis finished.  
  
Hathaway flinched but kept his gaze from the gory scene. “The area’s been cordoned off,” he said. “And the clean-up squad will make a thorough search before they clear everything away.”  
  
“They’ll have to be quick.” Lewis indicated the steadily rising sun. “There’ll be a lot more than early morning joggers cluttering things up soon.” It wouldn’t do to let the general public see what the night hid from view.  
  
“At least the regular constabulary wasn’t called in,” Hobson joined the conversation. “That could have been awkward. Who found the body?”  
  
“A late night undergraduate reveler on his way home,” Lewis told her. “Tripped over it when he went to take a piss in the bushes. Sobered up right smartly poor sod. When he’d finished throwing up he called 999. The dispatcher put it through to Innocent, thought we’d be interested.”  
  
That was the way it worked sometimes. A call got picked up and if they were lucky the dispatcher was someone who was aware of the twilight world of the supernatural, knew of the shadowy department that skirted on the edges of officialdom and who to go to with the unusual and not easily explained. That’s if they were lucky. They had been this time.  
  
Hobson shook her head. “Well, your drunken undergrad has made a right mess. The crime scene is hopelessly contaminated, we’ll be lucky to get any kind of reasonable forensic results and identification is going to be difficult unless there’s some form of identification mixed up somewhere in what’s left of that clothing. But that’s all something that’ll have to be done in the lab at this stage, there’s nothing else I can do here.”  
  
“Just try your best with it, eh?”  
  
Hobson gave him a look that would have quelled a lesser man if Lewis hadn’t know her too well to be intimidated and began taking off her latex gloves. Lewis focused his attention on Hathaway again. “Can you see to the witness, James? Get as much detail as you can then cut him loose with the usual reassurances.”  
  
Hathaway nodded. “I’ll finish up and meet you back at headquarters.”  
  
With nothing else to be done at the scene Lewis walked Laura back to her car, then begged a lift so he could leave Hathaway his own transport.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
“The autopsy report we’ve been waiting for has come in, sir.”  
  
Lewis heaved a sigh and let his glance slide away from the computer screen and onto the man standing next to him. Hathaway was leaning with his hip resting against the edge of Lewis’ desk, scanning the paper he was holding.  
  
“Just as we thought,” he muttered. “The victim died of multiple wounds, most likely inflicted by teeth and claws, the fatal wound being to the throat. However Dr Hobson found no forensic evidence of the attacker; no fibre, no hair, nothing. The killer left no trace of himself, or herself, behind. ”  
  
He turned his gaze back to Robbie, who held his hand out for the report but spared it only a quick glance as James passed it over.  
  
“How’s that possible if the victim was bitten? There’d have to be saliva, surely?”  
  
“Oh, yes. There was saliva but according to Dr Hobson it had no quantifiable laboratory results that detected any kind of known deoxyribonucleic acid.”  
  
“Deoxo …what?” Robbie said, then added “Ah,” and grinned as James chorused with him, “no DNA.”  
  
“All right, smart arse,” Robbie continued. “Did she actually say all that about … quantifiable results of Doxo, whatever, rather than just DNA? Or did you just make it up so you could use the big word?”  
  
James’ expression was bland. “Check the report,” he said, inclining his chin to the paper Robbie was still holding.  
  
 “I don’t suppose Dr Hobson has a suggestion on what kind of creature doesn’t have DNA?”  
Robbie asked, still ignoring the report.  
  
“Well, it doesn’t specifically say the perpetrator doesn’t have any DNA, just that they haven’t left any behind that the lab could identify.”  
  
“Clever trick. Even shape shifters leave traces from their human form. And if whoever did this wasn’t human there’d still be DNA that would tell us what it was.”  
  
Robbie finally looked down at the paper in his hand, skimming over the medical jargon (James had been spot on with the long word) and picking through the gruesome detail of wounds and their effect on the human body. It wasn’t pretty.  
  
“Laura thinks it’s definitely some sort of animal attack at any rate.” He glanced back up at James who nodded agreement.  
  
“It’s hard to think it could be anything else, given the state of the body. It’s too ripped up for any conventional weapon to have done the damage.”  
  
“So, we could be looking at something out there that attacks at random rather than a ‘something’ that might have a pattern or motive?” Robbie said.  
  
“That’s a possibility, sir.”  
  
“Great.” Robbie heaved a sigh, depressed at both the thought of chasing motiveless phantoms and at James’ returned persistence in calling him ‘sir’. Before the amnesia he would have been ‘Robbie’ to his partner.  
  
“At least the lab was able to come up with this.” He prodded a delicate finger at the blood encrusted and battered driver’s licence that had arrived at his desk from the lab earlier in the day. It was chewed and twisted but enough of the gore had been cleared away and the plastic unravelled to pick up the hint of a name.  
  
“Any luck with it?” James asked.  
  
Robbie turned back to his computer. “Black isn’t a particularly uncommon name, you know,” he huffed. “But, given the probable age spread and the fact the victim was definitely male I’ve found ten possibilities within the Oxford area.”  
  
“How do we know the victim is from Oxford? Or that Black is his full name for that matter? It could be Blacksmith.”  
  
Robbie glared. ‘Thank you for the helpful insight, Mr Hathaway. Let’s just go with the ten I’ve got to start with. Here.” He pushed five pieces of paper into James’ hand. “You can get on with that lot, an’ I’ll do the other half.”  
  
James accepted his portion with a grin and they spent the next hour painstakingly going through the phone book, trying to trace the ten male Blacks Robbie had come up with. It was times like this Robbie regretted he was no longer a DI – part of Oxfordshire Police. While anonymity gave the guardians more freedom it also meant they often lacked access to the resources of a modern police force and had to make do with more mundane ways of obtaining information, like phone books.  
  
Robbie worked through his list steadily, blocking out the office noises in the background and James on the other phone. He had just replaced the receiver on his last call when the changed note to James’ voice alerted him that his partner was on to something.  
  
“So your son didn’t come home last night?” James was saying. “Do you know where he was going?” There was a pause before James continued. “I see. My colleague and I will be there shortly to take your details. No, ma’am, we have no definite information at the moment but we do need to speak to you.”  
  
He put the phone down and looked across at Robbie. “Michael Black. Went out last night and he’s still not home. His mother’s frantic.”  
  
“Let’s go.” Robbie grabbed his coat from the back of his chair and was two steps behind James as he left the office.

  
~~~  
  
  
Catherine Black and her son lived at the end of a row of tired post war semi-detached houses, their windows looking out on a narrow street where children shouted and played with a soccer ball. When Catherine answered their knock she seemed as worn down as the neighbourhood, her eyes dull as she told them about her son.  
  
“He didn’t come home last night,” she said, standing on the doorstep, leaning against the open door as if guarding her home from unwanted predators. They had flashed their ID cards, the ones that looked authentic but weren’t quite standard police issue and her face had paled even more under its fringe of dark hair.  
  
“What’s happened to him? He’s been hurt hasn’t he? I knew it, he always comes home after. Always.” It all came out in an anguished rush and she slumped further against the door, almost falling.  
  
“I’m sorry, Mrs Black,” Robbie said, shooting out a hand to support her but she shrugged him away and straightened.  
  
“I suppose you’d better come in,” she said, turning to the dark interior of the house.  
  
They sat in uncomfortable silence on the settee for a few moments, Robbie expecting James to take the lead and begin the questioning. But he remained silent, a slight frown settled between drawn brows. Catherine sat opposite them, fiddling with her long black hair and staring sightlessly at the carpeted floor, her body huddled under an old grey jumper she wore, her initial outburst deflated now that it seemed her worst fears had been realised.  
  
Finally Robbie broke the silence. “Can you tell us where Michael was last night? Was he going out with someone, meeting someone?”  
  
“Michael keeps to himself,” Catherine answered. “He told me that morning he was going to the woods, Wytham Woods, after work. He goes there all the time. We don’t have a car so he rides his bike there, though he’s not supposed to, they don’t allow bikes in the woods. He’s dead, isn’t he?”  
  
The abrupt question caught Robbie by surprise and he hesitated before answering. “There has been a body found,” he said as gently as he could. “We suspect that it might be Michael, there was a driver’s licence found but it was badly damaged so we can’t be sure yet. Do you have something of his that we can use to help us identify him? A hairbrush or toothbrush? And would you mind if we looked around Michael’s room?”  
  
“No, of course not.” Catherine pulled herself out of her chair and headed towards the hallway and up the stairs. The house was small, compact in the way of low cost council housing. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom on the upper floor. Michael’s room was at the far end of the landing. The room was tidy, the bed neatly made and nothing apparently out of place.  
  
“How old was Michael?” James asked. He’d pulled the net curtain aside to look out at the back garden. It was the first time he’d spoken since they entered the house.  
  
“He’s nineteen,” Catherine told him, hovering in the doorway, holding a toothbrush out.  
  
“You said you don’t have a car and that he rides his bike all the time, but he did have a driver’s licence?”  
  
Catherine shrugged. “He wanted to get a licence, was saving up for a car. He works for the Research Centre at the university. He’s a lab assistant. Works for Professor Millson mostly, I think.”  
  
“And he definitely took his bike last night?” James had only glanced back at Catherine to see her nod before returning his gaze to the view out of the window. Robbie moved to stand beside him, curious as to what James’ line of questioning was leading to, what held his interest.  
  
The back garden was no different from any of the other gardens lined up in military order along the row of terraces; although the wooden boundary might perhaps have been a bit more ragged than most, the rhododendrons and rose bushes were well tended. A wind had sprung up, rippling through the clothes hanging off the clothesline, making them whirl on their pegs. The door of the garden shed was being whipped back and forth too, its momentum stopped only by the protruding back wheel of a bicycle.  
  
“You don’t own a bike do you, Mrs Black?” Robbie asked.  
  
Catherine was staring at the shed, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “That’s Michael’s,” she said. Not waiting for their reaction she hurried from the room and down the stairs, Robbie and James following in her wake.  
  
The bicycle was undamaged and scrupulously clean, the chances of any blood or other evidence remote, but Robbie requested, and was given permission, for its removal and examination by their experts. Catherine was adamant that Michael had left on it the night before. She was equally as adamant that no one could have entered the property during the night without her being aware of it.  
  
“Then how did it get back here?” Robbie wondered.  
  
James shook his head and shrugged but when Robbie looked at Catherine he could see new hope in her eyes.  
  
The sun was beginning to set as Robbie drove the car towards James’ flat and he stifled a yawn, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the past-five-o’clock shadow on his chin. The day seemed to have been endless and they still needed to check the Research Centre where Catherine Black had told them Michael worked, but it was too late now, there would be no one around to answer their questions.  
  
He glanced across at James slouched in the passenger seat all moody silence still. Robbie had become used to his aloofness but this was a new element in James’ reticence and it was starting to annoy him.  
  
“I suppose it’s possible that our body isn’t that of Michael Black after all,” Robbie finally said, when the silence threatened to become more than a little uncomfortable. “His mother seems to be thinking that way at any rate.”  
  
 James took so long to turn his attention away from the study he was making of the road ahead that Robbie thought he wasn’t going to answer him at all. But when James did turn to look at him Robbie saw that he’d been wrong. James looked troubled, not moody, and there was something else in his eyes that Robbie wasn’t sure he could fully identify but thought it might have been fear. The look was gone almost before Robbie could chase it down but he knew it had been there.  
  
“What about the driver’s licence?” James said. “There was no wallet or anything else found so why was that left if it isn’t Michael?”  
  
“Well, with that toothbrush Catherine gave us Laura should be able to make it a positive identification, or not. And you never know the lab might come up with something from the bike.”  
  
When James didn’t make any response he thought that was the end of the conversation and a return to the silence. But James surprised him a few minutes later by speaking again.  
  
“I think whoever it is he was killed by a shapeshifter, probably a werewolf and I also think Michael himself is or was a werewolf.”  
  
Robbie stared at him. “How did you come up with those assumptions?”  
  
“It makes sense, doesn’t it? The body was torn to pieces. Dr Hobson said it was likely an animal attack, ergo a lycanthrope. I think we both considered that the most likely scenario despite the anomalous DNA finding.” James waited for Robbie’s nod before continuing.  “Michael’s mother said he was reclusive, spent a lot of time in the woods.”  
  
“Yeah, but that doesn’t make him a werewolf, just a shy quiet kid who doesn’t socialise much.”  
  
“No, think about it. Catherine also said ‘he always comes back after’. After what? And it was a full moon last night.”  
  
Robbie was silent for a moment, concentrating on the traffic and thinking hard about the missing beat in Hathaway’s logic.  
  
“Still doesn’t prove anything,” he finally said, unable to tease out what was behind James’ words. There was something he wasn’t saying, Robbie was sure of that.  
  
“No, of course it doesn’t.” James returned to staring straight ahead through the windscreen. “Werewolves can still turn on the night after the full moon.”  
  
“Now there’s a cheerful thought,” Robbie muttered.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
James couldn’t sleep that night, there were too many things trapped inside his head, wanting to come out into the light, to be seen, but he was so very afraid of letting them escape. Only a few short weeks ago he’d been glad the fog that had clouded his mind had finally dissipated and his memories, his identity, had started to work its way back, piece by piece. Now he almost wished that the magic that had caused the amnesia in the first place had left him in that peaceful realm of ignorance instead of seeping away, letting his vision clear, letting everything come back – the good, the bad and the very, very ugly.  
  
He gave up on sleep finally and padded softly through his flat, not wishing to disturb the quiet and stillness of the night with heavy footsteps for some reason. Perhaps the truth was that he was frightened that noise would waken more memories, like a child scared of the things that go bump in the night.  
  
Finally he got himself a glass of water and settled in his chair by the window, looking out over the streetlights and let his thoughts wander to his friend and partner, his one solace in a life that had turned round and bitten him on the arse more time than he could count. And the things he would have to tell him, if not soon then eventually. His only hope was that somehow Robbie would understand, his fear was that he wouldn’t.  
  
  
~~~

  
Robbie could see that James had had a bad night when he picked him up at his flat the next morning. The lad was hollow eyed and in the same brittle frame of mind he’d been in when Robbie dropped him home the night before.  
  
It was another quiet journey all the way to the Research Centre and Robbie fretted, not knowing how to bring his partner out of his mood, or even why he was in the mood in the first place. The feeling of James withdrawing from him again was almost physically painful but with no clue how to change the situation there was nothing he could do but wait for James to talk to him.  
  
Their ID cards gained them entry to the centre and a helpful receptionist directed them to Professor Millson’s laboratory. The professor was a big man with the ruddy look of the outdoors, or perhaps of the habitual drinker.  
  
“Michael? Oh yes, Michael Black, one of the lab assistants. Nice boy. I hope he’s not in any kind of trouble?”  
  
“It’s possible something has happened to him,” Robbie said neutrally. “His mother has reported him missing. Was he here yesterday?”  
  
“He certainly was. Michael and Julian, one of the other assistants, have been helping me with some experiments I’ve been undertaking. He was here until around 4.00 then he said he had to go. I haven’t seen him since.”  
  
“Does he often fail to turn up for work?”  
  
“No it’s most unlike him. He knows how important our research is. You said his mother has reported him missing? I do hope the dear boy is all right.”  
  
“Did he seem worried about anything recently, Professor Millson,” James broke in.  
  
“No, not that I’m aware of. I don’t involve myself in the private lives of my assistants,’ the professor huffed, looking both Robbie and James up and down as if they were specimens under his microscope. “I wouldn’t have thought a Detective Inspector or a Detective sergeant would be involved in looking for a missing boy though. Especially a, forgive me for being blunt, mere laboratory assistant.”  
  
“A body has been found,” Robbie told him, the man’s attitude grating on him. “We believe it could be Michael. And that we take very seriously, professor.”  
  
For just an instant something indefinable crossed the man’s face and was gone, not shock exactly, Lewis thought, guilt perhaps? There was a pause before Millson spoke.  
  
“Oh dear, that is dreadful. I do hope you’re mistaken.”  
  
“This Julian,” James said. “Is he a friend of Michael’s?”  
  
“They’re friendly as work colleagues I suppose. They both left at the same time yesterday. Perhaps they were going somewhere together?”  
  
“And is Julian at work today,” James persisted.  
  
Millson hesitated. “No, he asked for some time off, said he was going home for a few days. He comes from somewhere in the Midlands I believe.”  
  
James pulled a notebook from his suit pocket. “What’s Julian’s full name and address?” he asked.  
  
“Julian Anders. I don’t know his address, you’d have to ask human resources for the information, or maybe Jess has it.” When James raised an eyebrow the professor elaborated. “Jess, on the reception desk. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am rather busy.”  
  
With nothing more to gain they left the professor to his microscopes and test tubes. True to Millson’s recommendation, Jess the receptionist was most helpful once again and produced Julian Anders’s address with no idea she was giving out person information to anyone other than the police.  
  
“I’d bet my eye teeth the good professor knows something that he’s not telling us,” Robbie said as he drove them back to guardian headquarters.  
  
“It would be a waste of a perfectly good set of eye teeth if you lost,” James assured him. “But my instinct tells me they’re in no danger.”  
  
Robbie grinned at the comeback.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
“This isn’t Michael Black,” Laura Hobson stated. “No DNA match from the toothbrush his mother supplied.”  
  
They were in the autopsy room, part of the hidden complex under guardian headquarters that housed the laboratories and research areas, all Laura’s domain and one she guarded fiercely.  
  
“Who is he then? And why was he carrying Michael’s licence?” Robbie said, frustration putting an edge to his voice. He stared down at the mortal remains of a now unknown male victim. The body was naked and washed clean of blood and gore, the autopsy dissections sewn neatly together making the unrepaired bite and tear marks left by the attacker more obvious. There was a smell of death mixed with hospital antiseptic in the room that threatened to make him gag.  
  
“Not my problem,” Laura told him. “You’re the investigator, investigate.”  
  
“That’s what we’ve been trying to do for god’s sake! But nothing is making any sense!”  
  
Laura scowled at him. “That’s hardly my fault.”  
  
Robbie took a breath. “Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to shout. It’s this case, think it’s getting to me.”  
  
 “There’s something else,” she said, giving him a sympathetic look. “The tox report has come back and there’s something unusual in the blood result. They detected a small amount of avian genetic material.”  
  
“He’s a shapeshifter?”  
  
She shook her head. “Not necessarily. The lab is pretty certain it isn’t part of this boy’s genetic makeup, that it was introduced artificially.”  
  
“Why would someone do that?”  
  
“Do what?” James asked from the doorway. He looked from one to the other, waiting for one of them to reply.  
  
Robbie obliged. “This isn’t Michael, so we’re back where we started from. He’s got genetic material that belongs to a bird, but doesn’t make him a shapeshifter as it’s probably artificial. And this case has just about turned itself on its ear.” He turned to Laura “Did I leave anything out?”  
  
“No, I don’t think so.” Laura grinned at him.  
  
“Oh,” was all James said, coming into the room. There was something in his expression that Robbie couldn’t put his finger on, but it wasn’t surprise.  
  
“The lab found nothing useful on the bike either,” James continued after a pause. “Apart from trace elements from Wytham Woods, as would be expected. They did think those traces were older than 24 hours though.”  
  
“So, it’s possible that Michael didn’t ride his bike last night, despite what his mother told us.” Robbie said. “What about Julian Anders?”  
  
James shrugged. “No one at his flat. I’ve got Julie checking his background to try and trace any family but no luck so far.”  
  
Robbie watched as Laura pulled the sheet up to cover the body again. “Get Julie to retrieve something for DNA analysis from Julian’s flat,” he said. “I don’t like this coincidence of both Michael and now, it seems, Julian being missing.”  
  
“Already done,” James told him. “Julian’s not so much missing as just not here. But if they left the research centre together and if Michael is the attacker rather than the victim it would explain how his licence ended up on the body, whosever it is.” he mused.  
  
Robbie nodded. His thoughts were running in the same direction, and it looked like James had been right before about Michael. Things were starting to take on a shape that at least made some sense but he wondered how James had known.  
  
The sound of footsteps interrupted them and Jean Innocent appeared in the doorway. “There’s been another killing,” she said. “A walker found it early this morning, in the woods. The police are there now.”  
  
“Our contacts?” Robbie asked.  
  
“Unfortunately no, so you’ll have to stay clear. First indication is that the victim was an illegal camper. I have someone on the inside in that division so hopefully they’ll come up with more information.”  
  
“In the meantime I think it’s time to talk to Michael’s mother again.” Robbie concluded.  
  
  
~~~  
  
  
Catherine Black looked better in the midmorning light, it was kinder to her than twilight had been, taking something of the drawn look of the day before away from her face. She hesitated on the doorstep, obviously reluctant to let them in but Robbie persisted and eventually she stepped aside.  
  
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know that the body recovered yesterday isn’t Michael,” Robbie told her once they were in the living room again. Catherine hadn’t invited them to sit though and was facing them from across the room.  
  
A brief smile flashed across her face but when she spoke her tone was frigid. “You have no right to frighten a person like that without cause.”  
  
“But we did have cause,” James replied. “His driver’s licence was found with the body. So either it was Michael … or Michael was with the victim when he died.”  
  
Catherine shot him a venomous look. “Michael had nothing to do with it. He could have lost his licence anywhere. It doesn’t prove anything.”  
  
“But you haven’t been completely honest with us, have you, Mrs Black? So how can we believe either of you aren’t involved,” James said. There was a harshness to his tone that Robbie hadn’t expected.  
  
“You told me you were from the police but you aren’t, I checked.” Catherine countered. “Why should I tell you anything?”  
  
“No, we’re not from the police, we’re guardians. You know what guardians are, don’t you, Mrs Black?”  
  
“James,” Robbie warned.  
  
James turned to him. “It’s all right,” he said. “She knows exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you, Mrs Black.”  
  
Catherine backed away from them, fear in her eyes now. She shook her head and it looked as if she was about to run until James took hold of her arm to keep her in place.  
  
“Yes, I know who you are,” she screamed defiance in James’ face trying to pull away from him.  “You’re the killers who hunt our kind and destroy us, even our children. Why should I tell you anything? You’ll kill me anyway, kill Michael if you find him, just because of what we are.”  
  
James looked suddenly stricken, dropping Catherine’s arm as he stepped back.  
  
“What is your kind?” Robbie demanded.  
  
“Your friend seems to know the answer to that already,” Catherine spat at them, but the defiance was forced now and she seemed suddenly small, almost defenceless.  
  
“It’s what I told you before. Both she and Michael are werewolves,” James told him, his voice dull. “Pure-blood I’d guess. It runs in families.”  
  
Robbie looked at him, but James wouldn’t meet his eyes. He turned his attention back to Catherine.  
  
"Where’s Michael?” Robbie said.  
  
Catherine shook her head, edging away again. “I don’t know! I told you that already. He hasn’t done anything. Why are you hunting him?”  
  
“There’s a body in our morgue and another one in Wytham Woods!” Robby was exasperated now. “Michael didn’t use his bicycle the other night to go to the woods, he was in Oxford, where the first victim was killed. That’s two people dead and Michael missing. Now tell us everything you know!”  
  
“No! It’s not Michael, it can’t be. He always goes to the woods on full moon. He likes to be able to run there, free in his true form.” She looked at them, pleading. “We can control ourselves, you know that. Pure-bloods have the ability to deny the moon when it’s at its fullest, we’re not like the first-bitten, the ones who can’t stop the change and are compelled to the kill.”  
  
“Did you run in the forest the other night, the night of the full moon?” James asked, seeming to have pulled himself together again.  
  
Catherine shook her head. “No, I stay here on full moon. If the pull gets too strong I go down into the cellar. Michael doesn’t like to be confined so he doesn’t stay with me.”  
  
“Michael has been gone since the full moon, when the first attack happened, and there was another attack last night.” Robbie reasoned, his attention still half on James. “You must know something.”  
  
She looked away from them, trying to avoid their eyes. “Ask that professor at the Research Centre. Michael was always on about him, maybe he knows something. Michael didn’t like what he was, half one thing and half another. He said they were doing some kind of experiments together, that the professor was trying to help him, I don’t know, come to terms with it I suppose. I know I couldn’t help him any more.”  
  
She fixed her gaze on Robbie then. “What are you going to do to me?”  
  
Robbie hesitated, suddenly unsure. Killing Catherine because of what she was didn’t seem to be an option. Guardians weren’t like the American hunters, they didn’t kill indiscriminately but neither did they leave supernatural beings free and unfettered, especially if they could be a danger to humanity. And there was still the possibility she could lead them to Michael. He glanced at James, but his partner had turned away, his back stiff and unyielding. He seemed to be studying a photograph on the mantelpiece but Robbie wouldn’t have been surprised if he was staring at nothing.  
  
By the time Robbie looked back towards Catherine the werewolf was already running, a momentary glimpse of her grey cardigan the only thing to be seen as she bolted through the door.  
  
“James,” Robbie warned, hearing the lad’s footfalls behind him as he gave chase down the passage and out through the kitchen door. But neither of them was fast enough to stop the black-furred shape that leaped the back fence, leaving a trail of clothing behind. By the time Robbie got to the fence there was nothing left but the cardigan and all he could hear was the sound of dogs disturbed into frenzied barking at the passing of something unnatural. He turned from the fence and discovered that James too had disappeared.  
  
Robbie found him outside the Black house, on the street, hands thrust deep into his pockets. James started to walk away from him when Robbie approached but he pulled at James’ shoulder, turning him around roughly. “You knew all the time, didn’t you?”  
  
James tried to jerk away but Robbie wouldn’t let him go without a fight, and it seemed James wasn’t prepared for that. His shoulders slumped and he stood still under Robbie’s grip, not looking at him.  
  
“You knew for certain that Catherine was a werewolf, didn’t you?” Robbie demanded, although he already knew what the answer would be. He felt James shudder and then he lifted his face to stare at Robbie through eyes that held a mixture of challenge and determination.  
  
“Yes, I knew. As soon as I saw Catherine I knew what she was.”  
  
“How?” Robbie tightened his grip, feeling the sharp edges of James’ shoulder bones under his hands.  
  
“You already know that I often sense things, have a sixth sense. It’s benefited us often enough. Can’t we just leave it at that?”  
  
There was a desperate edge to James’ voice that made Robbie pause. James was right, his prescience had saved their lives more than once. But he couldn’t let this go now, it was too important. He took a breath and lowered his voice, fighting for control and understanding.  
  
 “No. Because there’s more to this than that,” he said “Tell me, James. Please.”  
  
When James broke free and turned away from him Robbie thought he wasn’t going to give in, might run from him even. But James just stood still for a moment then turned back to look at his friend with eyes made dark with pain, misery etched in every feature.  
  
“I’m a seer,” he said. “I can see the past and the future and what people are, their true natures.” He laughed, a small sad laugh. “Five centuries ago I would have been called a witch. The trouble is, it’s an unreliable … talent. Sometimes it’s just not there, others it screams at me.”  
  
“Why, James?” Robbie said, controlling the sharp edge of anger and bitterness he felt that James had never confided in him. “Why have you never told me this before?”  
  
“Because people change when I tell them or they find out. I didn’t want that, not again. I didn’t want you to change, or to leave.”  
  
Robbie sighed, defeated. He looked around at the grimy row of tenements and saw a curtain twitch in the window opposite. The children were back, playing at the end of the street. They stopped to stare at them, wondering no doubt at the heated exchange. This wasn’t the place to have this discussion.  
  
“Come on,” he said, gentle now. “Let’s get out of here.”

  
~~~

  
Thoughts chased themselves around in his head as Robbie drove. James’ admission was a shock, he couldn’t deny that, despite the logic of it. James had always seemed to know where the danger was, who to trust and who to distrust. Robbie had always looked on it as instinct but now he realised just how dense he had been.  
  
“Robbie, I ...” James started. He was huddled in the passenger seat, quiet misery radiating off him.  
  
“Not yet,” Robbie interrupted. “Just. Not yet.”  
  
James seemed to shrink even more into his seat. Robbie kept driving, not sure where he was going at first then his surroundings were familiar and he knew the place he wanted to be. He stopped at a parking bay by the Victoria Arms and left the car, heading on foot towards the riverbank, knowing, hoping, that James would follow him but not sure that he would. There was silence before the sound of a car door slamming reached him and Robbie breathed a sigh of relief.  
  
It was quiet by the river, just a couple of lunch-time picnickers finishing up before heading back to work. Robbie walked as far as the river edge and lowered himself down onto the soft grass, sitting with his arms resting over his knees, and watched the flow of the water. He liked the Cherwell; it was a gentle, calm river, so unlike the raucous, fast flowing Tyne of his native Newcastle. He could always find a sense of peace here.  
  
A group of swans had swum past, going about their own business, before Robbie heard footfalls behind and James lowered himself down beside him, stretching out his long legs and leaning back on his hands. Robbie could smell cigarette smoke and knew that James had indulged in a cigarette before joining him.  
  
They sat for a few minutes in silence, both looking out across the river, then James began to speak.  
  
“There was a family who lived near us, in the village. I used to play with the youngest boy, we were around the same age. His name was David. I spent more time in his house than I did in my own half the time. The thing is I knew what he was, what they were – his family. But I didn’t understand what I was seeing. To me they were just different from us in the same way that the family down the road was Jamaican or the girl in our class wore glasses. I used to ask David to change so I could see him in his other form, as a wolf. We’d run through the woods on the estate together, two kids playing. Occasionally it was one kid playing with his dog, or so people thought. When David’s family finally realised that I knew, they moved. One day they were there and David and I were in school together, the next they were gone.”  
  
He stopped speaking and lifted his face to the sun, squeezing his eyes shut and Robbie knew he was reliving those days. After a moment he turned his gaze back to the river and continued speaking.  
  
“I didn’t tell anyone what I could see, or what I knew. But it got harder to keep it to myself, especially when the visions started. They usually came to me in dreams. My parents thought it was just nightmares. But some of the things I told them about the dreams came true. It got harder after that. They called in their priest, he called in the experts, the ones that do the Church’s demon hunting and exorcisms. They tested me and when they knew what my abilities were, that I wasn’t possessed as my parents feared, they took over my life.”  
  
“How old were you?” Robbie asked.  
  
“Six when I played with David. Seven when the priests took me in. They educated me and trained me as much as they could.”  
  
He looked at Robbie then. “Have you ever wondered why we’re called ‘guardians’?  
   
Robbie puzzled at the abrupt change of subject. “Well, it’s obvious I suppose. We guard humanity against the forces of the supernatural world.”  
  
“So who guards the supernatural world against the humans?”  
  
“Do they need guarding?” Robbie asked, surprised. “From my experience they seem to have a pretty good defence mechanism.”  
  
Instead of replying James changed direction again. “When I was in my third year of studies at the seminary my superiors called me in on a hunt. It was to be my first. A pack of wolves. It was a very ordinary house, in a nice neighbourhood. The kind you expect any normal family to live in; it backed onto a small wooded area. We moved in after midnight. I was placed as a guard at the rear of the house, in case any of them tried to get out that way. As it turned out I wasn’t really needed because no one got out at all. They showed me the bodies afterwards, they had all been asleep in their beds. I recognised David straight away.”  
  
James turned to face Robbie and propped himself up on one elbow. “Who’s right, Robbie? Us because we kill the monsters, no matter who or what they are? Or them because they kill us to survive?”  
  
Robbie shook his head, “Ah, I don’t know, lad. Could we ever do anything different? They are monsters when all’s said and done, even the ones who live amongst us as ordinary folk like your friend David or Catherine Black. We have to defend ourselves. More often than not that means destroying them or at least keeping them away from humanity. We have no choice, at least until we can come up with a better solution.”  
  
James nodded then sighed. “I guess my idealism is showing,” he said, mouth turned up in a depreciating tilt. “All I know is I couldn’t stay in the seminary after that. The guardians seemed to offer me an alternative to the death they wrought; somewhere I could try and bury what I am but where I could be useful as well.  Obviously that was never going to work. I couldn’t keep it hidden.”  
  
“What you are is a lad with a talent. And that talent has saved me more than once. So I, for one, am grateful for it. So don’t try and change yourself. You’re fine just the way you are. Only, in future tell me these things, don’t hide them from me. Okay?”  
  
James did smile then and Robbie knew he’d said the right thing. “There’s nothing else you want to tell me is there, some other dark secret you’ve been keeping.”  
  
James appeared to be considering. “Only that I’ve never told you how bad your coffee making skills are,” he finally said solemnly  
  
Robbie laughed and gave him a shove then sat for a moment, thinking. “When Sam Winchester took over the amulet and you got caught in its backdraft, was what happened to you, the amnesia, because of your own magic?”  
  
“I think so. One reacted against the other. I was caught by surprise and had no chance to defend myself.”  
  
“I don’t suppose you could use this talent of yours to suss out what’s going on here, or where Michael Black might happen to be?”  
  
“Unfortunately, no. But good old detective work and deduction works equally as well and I think you’re right about Millson. He’s behind this, him and his laboratory. As for Michael, he’s where he feels the safest.”  
  
Robbie nodded. “Wytham Woods.” He stood up and held out a hand to James hauling him to his feet. “Come on, we have work to do.”  
  
“What about Catherine” James said as they headed back to the car.  
  
“I’ll alert Innocent, get her to send some people to watch the house, see if she comes back but I doubt she will.”  
  
“No, she’ll be looking for Michael.”  
  
“Aye, that she will,” Robbie agreed. He hoped they would find the boy first.  
  
“Thanks, Robbie,”  
  
James looked so serious that Robbie’s heart broke for the loneliness he must have suffered keeping his secret so close. “Ha’way with you.” was all he said though, smiling his acceptance to his partner.

  
~~~  
  
  
It was dark by the time they arrived at the woods, the waning moon throwing shadows and ghostly shapes across the carpark as they pulled in.  
  
Another car was already parked and James pulled up next to it. He looked across at Robbie and raised his eyebrows but Robbie shrugged.  
  
“Could be a late night rambler,” he said, breaking the silence that had stayed with them since the beginning of the journey, each wrapped in their own thoughts. James was good with the silence though, it gave him a chance to weigh up what had happened between them and what it meant. There was a feeling of relief too. Robbie knew. He didn’t have to hide that part of himself anymore. He slipped into that thought, the knowledge that it was ‘Robbie’ now instead of the ubiquitous ‘sir’ he’d long felt safer with even before the amnesia. Something had shifted between them and James had reason for hope. He had a new memory too, a vague one still but gaining clarity. It was of a kiss, the mere meeting of lips, but a kiss nonetheless and the remembered feeling sent a warm glow through his stomach as more knots untied.  
  
He turned the headlights off then flicked the catch to open the boot. It was the work of a few short minutes to make a collection from the armoury stored there; James slipping the broadsword and scabbard he always carried on operations across his back while Robbie retrieved the shotgun he favoured, without benefit of silver bullets. The fallacy of that legend had been proven decades past. A knife each to complete the ensemble, and they were ready.  
  
“Which way?” James asked.  
  
“Where the body was found is as good a place to start as any,” Robbie answered. Innocent’s contacts had given them a good idea of where that was.  
  
James nodded agreement and they started out, the moon’s glow enough for them to see the track that lead through the woods.  
  
The crime scene itself was easily recognised, the cordon of police tape fluttering in the gentle breeze. The woods were thicker around them here, the trees and gorse more closely bunched, but the body had been in a small clearing covered with knee high grass.  
  
They stopped by the police tape and looked around.  
  
“Can you sense anything?” Robbie asked.  
  
James just looked at him.  
  
“Well it was worth asking,” Robbie muttered.  
  
“It’s a talent, not a tap,” James responded. He could see the white flash of Robbie’s teeth in the darkness and he grinned, happy with the return of the easy banter that had been so long absent. A nearby owl hooted, dragging their attention away from each other and towards the trees, then the snapping sound of breaking wood and drag of movement through deadfall.  
  
“Who’s there,” Robbie called, swinging his shotgun in the general direction of the noise. James reached for his broadsword, but didn’t draw it.  
  
The sound stopped as suddenly as it had started, the quiet now almost eerie; even the background of chirrups and clicks of birds and insects had ceased.  
  
They waited. When nothing happened Robbie shouted again. “Whoever you are you’d better come out of there.”  
  
James finished drawing his sword and they stood shoulder to shoulder eyes searching, trying to see through the darkness. A shadow detached itself from the trees and came towards them. Robbie brought the shotgun to his shoulder and slipped the safety off.  
  
“For god’s sake don’t shoot!” The shadow materialised into a familiar broad shape.  
  
Robbie lowered the gun but didn’t put the safety on again. “Professor Millson! What are you doing here?”  
  
“I came to find Michael, to protect him.”  
  
“Do you know where he is?” James asked. He too still held onto his weapon.  
  
Millson shook his head. “He always comes here,” he said, unconsciously echoing Catherine Black’s words. “I knew he’d be here now.”  
  
Suddenly James knew what Millson was getting at, what the man knew and, he suspected, what Millson had done. It wasn’t prescience or any other seer talent, just simple deduction. He glanced at Robbie and knew his friend had come to the same conclusion.  
  
“You know what Michael is, don’t you Professor?  
  
”Yes, the boy confided in me some time ago. I was surprised of course. Werewolves are a creature of myth after all. But he showed me, then begged for my help. He wanted to be human, wanted the wolf part of him to be gone.”  
  
“And you decided to use him as a guinea pig,” Robbie said, disgust echoing in his words.  
  
Millson shrugged. “If we could do it, if it brought him peace. I was willing to try.”  
  
“But it didn’t work, did it, Professor?” James said.  
  
“No, unfortunately the treatment had the opposite effect. Instead of reducing, eliminating even, Michael’s wolf DNA his genetic structure changed into something that wasn’t wolf or human. Poor Michael became something he couldn’t control. He killed Julian, I saw it happen.”  
  
James looked across at Robbie. “Explains why Laura couldn’t identify any DNA from the killer,” he said. Robbie nodded.  
  
“And what about Julian, Professor? Did he know you were messing around with his DNA too?”  
  
Millson looked at them with disdain. “They both wanted it. Michael wanted to know what he could be and Julian wanted to know what he could become.”  
  
“What, that he could fly! You’ve messed around with those two lads, created a monster of one and the other one’s dead. How is that giving them what they wanted?” James could feel Robbie’s outrage, it joined his own and leached into the air like thick molasses.  
  
“You don’t understand! It was a great opportunity, the chance to see what the manipulation of human genetics could achieve. We do it to animals, even flowers for heaven’s sake! Why should we not enhance humanity? Think about it gentlemen. What could not mankind be if given certain attributes of the animal kingdom?” the professor reasoned.  
  
“You’re crazy.” James was surprised at how calmly that came out when he felt anything but calm. And there was something moving close to them in the woods, he could feel it, sense it. A quick glance at Robbie confirmed that he was oblivious to what was coming. James’ senses sharpened even more, becoming a white noise scratching at his brain as the entity, whatever it was, moved closer. Then there was the sound of wood scraping on wood and a nightjar exploded from the shrubbery behind Millson in a billow of leaves and flapping wings. Millson turned to the noise and screamed.  
  
In a heart-freezing minute James felt the hair at the back of his head rise as a monstrous outline towered over Millson, blocking the moon from view.  
  
Millson screamed again. “No! Michael!”  
  
There was a shift in the air as a bullet passed James’ cheek and the sound of Robbie’s shotgun firing a second later. The monster flinched back but didn’t stop. Robbie ran forward, James with him as Robbie fired again. Millson had backed up and was in danger of getting in their way so James hip and shouldered him and Millson went down. They had a clear view of the creature now. It stood well over six feet as it balanced on hind legs, forelegs pawing at the air. Its features were odd; a face too broad for what it was with eyes that glowed a deep red, its skin gleaming bare and hairless in the moonlight. James could see threads of saliva dripping from sharp-edged teeth as it lifted its long pointed nose and howled.  
  
Another shot rang out as the creature turned those red eyes to them again and came down to four legs. There was clear damage from the bullets Robbie had fired, one of the ears was half hanging from the misshapen head and blood could be seen flowing darkly from its left shoulder and side, but still it came.  
  
Robbie fired once more, point blank and the blast extinguished the red light of one eye as the creature jumped for them. James held steady then lunged when the creature was almost on them, his sword plunging into the leaping body. He felt flesh tearing then resistance as the blade met bone before ending its journey buried to the hilt.  
  
The creature fell, ripping the sword from James’ grasp. He stood there, panting, momentarily unbalanced so that he feared falling onto the body but he steadied and looked around quickly for Robbie, afraid suddenly when he didn’t immediately see him. But he was there on the other side, still aiming his shotgun. Robbie lifted his gaze to James and smiled, a thin, wan smile that held fear and relief all in one.  
  
“Are you all right?” Robbie said.  
  
“Yeah, You?”  
  
Robbie nodded and James bent to withdraw his sword. The creature howled, a thin sound that turned into a whimper. The remaining eye went from red to a deep blue and there was pain and understanding there, then the eye closed and with a small sigh Michael died.  
  
The body remained that of a misshapen werewolf rather than returning to its human form, as most did at the moment of death and Robbie sighed, then turned away. James finished withdrawing the sword and went to join him, no longer wishing to look at the pathetic remains.  
  
James had forgotten about the professor in the heat of their battle against the wolf. He wondered if Robbie had too. They looked around the clearing. Professor Millson had scuttled to the far side and was on hands and knees, gazing at the fallen creature.  
  
“Is he dead?” he called, starting to get to his feet.  
  
The growl startled them badly. Harsh and guttural, it came from beyond the tree line, catching them unaware. They both swung in that direction, just in time to see a blur of movement as a dark shape hurtled towards them. James lifted his sword, Robbie’s shotgun was already moving but the shape brushed past them, knocking them aside with ease. The professor had time to scream ‘no’ before the shape was on him and James realised it was another werewolf. Robbie fired the shotgun but it jammed. Cursing, he racked the weapon frantically trying to release the shell.  
  
It was over in seconds, the dreadful screaming growing weaker while the growling finally ceased with the snap of a jaw. Robbie was still trying clear the shotgun and James had run forward, but there was no way they could get there in time. Then there was silence. James stopped in his tracks as the werewolf’s eyes glared balefully at him, its jaws still tight on the dead professor’s throat, daring him to come further.  
  
“James.” Robbie was beside him, his weapon cleared and ready again. “Stay still.” James obeyed.  
  
The werewolf gave one last bite then released the corpse. The air around it seemed to shimmer and the werewolf’s form blurred. James closed his eyes and when he opened them again the werewolf was gone and a woman had taken its place, her long black hair flowing down to cover her nakedness. She looked up at them, hatred as dark in her eyes as the fear.  
  
“He did that to my son,” Michael’s mother said, switching her gaze to the slain werewolf and James could see the moonlight-glitter of tear tracks streaking her face. “Michael never hurt anyone, never tasted human blood, I made sure of that. I protected him and kept him hidden from the world, taught him how to pretend to be human.” She looked down at the body again, teeth bared now. “But this _human_ turned him into a monster. He had to pay for that.”    
  
James made a movement towards the ghastly tableau of hunter and hunted but stopped at Robbie’s grip on his arm. But Catherine Black ignored them both after her speech. She rose from the mangled body and walked to her son, sinking slowly down beside him to gather him into her arms, cradling the body as if it were a child. The whimper she made turned into a mournful howl, a death dirge that echoed through the woods and made the hair stand up on the back of James’ head.  
  
James looked at Robbie and realised he was on his mobile, the phone to one ear, a hand clasped to the other in an attempt to ward off the dreadful sound of Catherine’s grief. He finished his call and picked up the shotgun he’d left on the ground.  
  
“Backup’s on its way,” he said. “And a clean-up crew.”  
  
James nodded his understanding and began to walk towards Catherine and Michael. Robbie didn’t stop him this time. James took off the anorak he was wearing and put it across the now sobbing Catherine’s shoulders. She didn’t look at him, but her hand clutched at edge of the coat and pulled it close.  
  
He looked for Robbie and found him standing at the tree line. He joined him and they stood together, waiting.

  
~~~

  
The clean-up squad were working quickly, clearing away the evidence of what had taken place with quiet efficiency. Jean Innocent had arrived with them and James waited while Robbie filled her in on what had happened.  
  
“I can’t say that Millson didn’t reap what he’d sown,” Innocent said when Robbie had finished. “But I’m not sure he deserved that kind of death.”  
  
Robbie shrugged. “He knew what he was doing, what kind of danger he was playing with.” He shook his head. “What a mess.”  
  
“Quite,” Innocent agreed. “Everything in his lab will have to be assessed and cleaned up too, his records destroyed, and all before dawn. Not to mention the manoeuvring that’s to be done to explain away all these bodies. We can only push a vicious dog attack so far! And there’s Michael Black to dispose of, his body must not be seen by anyone other than guardians.  As you say, a mess.”  
  
“What about Catherine?” James asked, watching as the werewolf was escorted to a guardian security van. Someone, Laura probably, had given her a pair of crime scene coveralls to wear. They were too big and the legs pooled around her bare feet.  
  
Innocent frowned. “She should be dealt with in the same way as any other werewolf we come across. You know that.”  
  
“But she’s one that hasn’t killed before,” James reminded her.  
  
“Well, she has now and quite viciously judging by the state of the body. And we only have her word for the life she and her son were leading.”  
  
“It’s too risky to leave her without taking action, James,” Robbie confirmed.  
  
James could see the sympathy in his eyes but he knew both he and Innocent were right. It didn’t help the hard knot that formed in his stomach at what would be Catherine’s fate though. The guardians kept certain facilities for those it deemed a danger to the public, but at least it was better than death, although he wasn’t sure Catherine would come to appreciate that distinction.  
  
“Go home, Robbie,” Innocent said. “You too James. There’s nothing more you can do here.”

  
~~~  
  
  
It was the early hours of the morning by the time Robbie opened the door to his flat, almost surprised to find that nothing had changed since he’d left the previous day.    
  
Exhausted but still keyed up by the events of the night he was tempted by the whisky bottle he knew was in the kitchen cupboard, it must be after sundown in some part of the world after all. But it was only a temptation and he boiled the kettle instead and made himself some tea.  
  
The sun was just creeping over the horizon as he drank the tea, a time of morning he’d always enjoyed for its quiet peace. He let his thoughts wander until finally they settled on James and how much he had revealed of himself to Robbie and what that would mean for them both and there was a warm feeling inside him that had nothing to do with his cup of tea.  
  
  
End  
  
  
  
   
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
